


Yours Truly

by lesbyien



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Get it?, Lots of angst okay, M/M, Past MarkSon - Freeform, Present Jinson, Soft Im Jaebum | JB, alternative universe, soon to be markbeom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 02:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbyien/pseuds/lesbyien
Summary: And it's in that moment, when their bodies are glued to one another, that a familiar voice asks"Does it still hurt?"





	Yours Truly

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello hello, long time no see.  
There must be a lot of typos in this fic, I apologize for that, but the urge to write some markbeom was too strong.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! You can also come talk to me and give me suggestions on twitter @lesbyien  


“Did it hurt?”

The question came up suddenly and unexpectedly, amid the now comfortable and rocking silence between them. His gaze focused on the presence beside him, lying down and without much expression on his face, the type of reaction you’d expect from someone who asks without thinking about the tone of their voice when spilling such words into thin air; the expression of someone who has become so familiar and present in your life they don’t fear the unknown and fused feelings kept hidden from the surface.

But the question hangs in the air, and echoes in Mark's ears, and remains there. And it brings him back to times when the slight burn of the scalding water from the shower made it feel like a warm, wet embrace that enveloped him in his own tears and would not allow him to hear his sobs. It reminds him of the morbid and desperate moment when the faucet spins and the embrace breaks, and he is left frozen and still, his forehead against the cold stone of the wall as more sighs in attempts at comfort came from his lips. If he closed his eyes now as he did then, he could still feel it; the frantic control to keep more tears from falling down his cheeks, one last attempt to break a routine that has become too familiar. 

The slow and careful steps out of those four walls and back to the dreaded place where it seemed that everything that once belonged to that person reminds him that the feeling remains. The air is heavy and nostalgic from times that were once comforting and enough to make his heart beat faster. And the smell coming from the sheets that honestly at this point should be removed and washed, but Mark doesn't have the courage to even think of doing so.

And sleeping in the scent of someone who once desired you and wanted to leave his mark on that same bed, someone who ran his hands all over Mark's trembling body and made promises one reads in books meant to make you believe in undying and eternal love is the most silent form of torture.  
But that was his reality. His hands searched the empty space for a body that would never come back, and slowly, slender and cold fingers pulled the pillow placed right beside him against his chest, hard enough to make his fingers go white and his face red with anger. 

Although, it is quite funny, as anger would not be the best word to describe how he felt about Jackson, but perhaps for the one who appeared out of nowhere, like an angel in disguise with a devil’s aura, and with an exchange of glances and a smile worthy of the most beautiful adjectives captured the attention of his once lover.  
And he was beautiful, oh he was beautiful. He was material taken out of dreams, like a treasure hidden in the depths and discovered at the right time for Mark's misfortune.

His reflection showed no such beauty. In fact, Mark's reflection showed the image of someone no longer the same. He doesn't know when Jackson's eyes changed, or if that was even the case, maybe Mark just lost that light and beauty over the days, weeks and months.

And he still hasn’t figured out when his light has faded.

Soon enough, the mirror no longer made sense. It was agonizing to look at his reflection to do the most mundane daily chores, and frankly Mark almost gave up on doing so just not to be reminded that he is not Jinyoung.

He can't plant little kisses on the back of Jackson's neck, and his arms can't hug his slender waist. He cannot whisper how much he loves him and how much he wants him, and that he will make every effort to stay awake so he can see him come home from work and greet him with a smile and a sleepy kiss. He can't wake up in the morning and be greeted with breakfast waiting for him, accompanied by a half-awake half-asleep Jackson drinking that horrible shake he insists on drinking. He no longer feels the excitement of having a day off, and being able to stay home wrapped in a blanket and save a little space for Jackson to curl up in, warm and safe in each other. 

Days off mean loneliness and memories. And God damn it, Mark would rather have amnesia.

His clothes made no sense. The cardboard boxes that Yugyeom insisted on bringing to pack those damn clothes take up half the space in his room, and Mark just wants to get rid of everything.  
Mark never understood why Jackson didn't want to go back to their apartment to take his stuff, and he never gave him an explanation. With each message sent, Jackson made up an increasingly elaborate excuse, and Mark was never an expert on trying to pull information from others, and honestly nothing in his head made any sense anymore.  
It got to the point where texting his now ex was a source of extreme inducing anxiety. He felt like a puppet of his own heart, as it controlled his fingers so easily and wrote down on a faded screen all the tangled up thoughts in his head. The sent button was already worn out, and the words were already mingled. 

Yugyeom says some things are better left unsaid.  
Mark just wanted one last goodbye.

But nothing prepared him for the moment of seeing them together, in person. Something that was just a dark and destructive thought created in his head suddenly became a reality that he had tried to escape for too long. And so, when the image of a laughing and smiling Jackson followed by an equally happy Jinyoung beside him emerges before his eyes, the rest of the world went mute.  
Yugyeom's words of concern and comfort were of no use when his mind felt like a feather flying in the wind, waiting for a new destination far from where it came from. The forces to weep seemed to have faded, only a distant, blank look remained. A heavy, unexpected hand touches his shoulder. Mark can only remember a vague and almost inaudible question

“Is your friend okay?”

That unfamiliar voice soon understood that no, nothing was fine. The little interactions exchanged with Mark became increasingly smaller; the most basic form of communication became the only way to talk to Mark, who gave the excuse that even uttering an entire sentence caused him pain but also annoyed him to no end. This stranger also realized that Mark himself was a man of few words. So, he can’t exactly pinpoint when this attraction started. Maybe it was the way he gently played with his fingers nervously as he listened to him speak, or perhaps the simplicity of the way he licked his lips so sweetly as he nodded at the words coming from this voice, but Mark Tuan was oddly captivating.

He noticed the prominent canines in his torn smile, something he had never seen before. From that day on, he hoped to see it more often.  
Gradually, that smile grew bigger and bigger. The previously unknown voice became a melody often heard throughout Mark's once silent and lifeless apartment.

The voice was serene, calm and patient. It was serene when the world collapsed without any warning. It was calm when the tears kept falling, and only he could make them stop. It was patient when Mark wanted to give up. But it was also shrill when he had to be, loud when Mark's own laughter encouraged him to be. It was sweet when Mark's hands caressed his cheeks and leaned in for the smallest yet most adoring kisses; and tender when he spoke words of love. 

But above it all, the voice never left. 

This all ridiculously sounds like the lyrics from a song written at four in the morning on a napkin found in the pocket of an aspiring musician who needs to write down what just came out of his head for future reference. It would be even more absurd and cliché if this musician just happened to have the brilliant idea of taking a night stroll through the streets smelling of wet soil and freshly smoked weed. Or better yet, it would be the epitome of cliché drama if that person were just now gazing at the few stars in the sky half covered by heavy clouds, while one of his half-clad hands in his oversized sweatshirt tries to intertwine his fingers with Mark's. 

Only their wet footsteps could be heard, with the occasional faint humming coming from the back of the throat of this still intriguing and fascinating person to Mark. His fingers were soft, and they held Mark's trembling ones with almost no effort, but none of them dared to let go. It was inherent in Mark to not be able to look into the eyes of someone who intimidated him in the most tender way possible, and he swore that if he could change that in him, he would. But at that moment, his gaze focused only on the path ahead.  
But he could feel it, the heavy gaze of the man holding his hand. It was a different type of gaze, and if Mark had the right words to describe him he would, but how can anyone explain the way Im Jaebeom looked at him?

Never the echo of laughter sounded so sweet, especially between those transparent and misty shower walls. It had been years since a touch could create new memories in Mark, and the slide of those rough, desperate and strong fingers through the most hidden parts of him made him feel a different kind of pleasure than he once had felt, or tried to replicate alone at more vulnerable times. He had missed the wetness of needy lips in his ear reminding him of how absolutely beautiful he was, and how much he wanted him right that moment.  
He missed looking into that damn mirror, and seeing strong, warm arms embracing him so tightly he thought he would explode. He missed seeing his smile grow from ear to ear as Jaebeom pressed sloppy kisses on his neck, stealing a laugh from Mark. He missed the pressure of Jaebeom's still semi hard cock against his ass, a broken breath mixed with a moan falling from his lips.

So when the question hovered in the air once they were comfortably lying in bed, Mark pondered the answer. A delicate hand landed on Jaebeom's still wet hair, combing each strand with great affection.

Mark takes a deep breath. The soothing, familiar scent of his now boyfriend fills their shared room; the bed where they both lie has become ten times more comfortable since the last time he was fucked senseless on it.  
And Mark stops to think, and for the first time in months everything seems so clear.

“Yes.” Out comes the answer, simple and quick.

With a slow and heavy movement of his body, Jaebeom sits on the bed against the headboard, his hair messy and wild in front of his eyes, although it became no hindrance to look each other in the eyes, as he grabs his lovers hand and caresses the soft and smooth skin of Mark’s knuckles with his thumb. For a moment Jaebeom hesitated to ask the next question, but any fear faded as a small squeeze of Mark's own hand made him feel as though this was his encouraging way to make him speak.

“Does it still hurt?”

And then, at that moment, a weight of a ton fell from Mark's shoulders. All the hurt and suffering experienced during months of doubt and insecurity seemed to vanish before his eyes, and the reflection that remained was that of the man who was able to say 'I love you' and kept his promise. The small gap between them was soon closed when Mark, with that smile that could make an angel melt, pressed his loving lips to Jaebeom’s, a soft and tender kiss assuring them of the answer.


End file.
